We Can Never Go Back
by Saij Emrys
Summary: Sam and Lucifer are mortal enemies. But what if it was discovered that John Winchester had done something to Sam as a child to ensure that hatred? Something terrible. Will Sam and Lucifer find a way to right the wrong done by Sam's father, or will they forever be destined to a fate not of their choosing and an eternity of hatred?


**Disclaimer: I own no part of Supernatural. I am not involved in the writing, production or general awesomeness that is this show. It can also be noted that I am making no profit, monetary or otherwise from this fan fiction.**

 _Authors Note:_ Let it be known that I have not written fan fiction for many years and am a bit rusty (understatement of the year). Please be patient as I work to get the hang of this. I am a biologist so creative writing is not always our forte. I love Supernatural and will endeavor to complete this fic so as not to leave anyone hanging. A few things about this story. Like the actual show, the story jumps from person to person to fill in the whole plot. Much like one minute Dean will be on screen, only to switch to Crowley to tell the story from that angle. I will put dividers up to indicate "scene" changes. This story will also be told in two parts. One past and one future, so it could get quite long. I am working on more detailed outlines now. Have no fear, I have published an actual book and several research papers so I'm not likely to abandon you. Updates may not come fast though. Be patient if you wind up liking this story.

This story is AU, but I will try to keep as close to the original characterizations and "feel" of the Supernatural universe as possible. This is not meant to be a crazy "out there" AU, simply a what if story. Feel free to comment. Negative comments welcome if it is _constructive_ criticism.

Let the story begin!

" _Some things are destined to be - it just takes us a couple of tries_  
 _to get there."_

 _-J.R. Ward_

"Dean, give it BACK"

"No. You've had it all for yourself for the whole ride here. It's my turn now. I _always_ let you play with it more. It' MY turn now."

"But I was just getting to the part where I kill all the bad guys. IT'S STILL _MY_ TURN."

John Winchester jerked upright to the sound of his children screaming at one another. His head ached from too much cheap whiskey and his children's voices grated on his last nerve. Throwing back a little hair of the dog straight from the bottle, he heaved himself off the lumpy motel couch and staggered into the small adjoining bedroom where his two sons, Dean and Sam, slept.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?"

Immediately all sound from the boys ceased. Two wide eyed ashen faces looked up at him from a floor littered in small army men and matchbox cars. Held between the boys was a plastic jet fighter that was the apparent cause of all the ruckus. Both boys had ahold of one wing, but had frozen in their tug of war contest when their father had thundered through the door.

"IS THIS WHAT YOU TWO ARE FIGHTING OVER? I swear to God I'm not gonna buy you two any more toys. Grow the hell up, the BOTH of you. Dean, it's your responsibility to keep everything under control when I'm sleeping, and that means keeping yourself under control too, you got that boy?"

From the floor, eight-year-old Dean looked meekly down at the worn carpet, a mixture of fear and resignation on his young face.

"Yes, Sir," he mumbled, barely audible.

"Good."

With that John took two large steps towards the boys and tore the plane from their hands, turning to throw it blindly behind him where it collided with the cheap plywood dresser. John turned back to the boys.

"Did you give Sam his bath?"

Dean turned to look at his baby brother who sat motionless with his arm still extended slightly from where he had been gripping the toy jet. His eyes looked a little wet, but he didn't let one tear fall. Dean stood and looked back to his father.

"Yeah. We both had one earlier, but I haven't brushed his teeth yet."

"Well get to it. I want you both in bed in 20 minutes." John spared a glance around the decrepit motel room. "Also, add more salt to the windows and around your beds. The lines are starting to wear thin. I'm going out tonight so do it good and proper."

John turned and left the room without looking back at his sons.

"Yes, Sir," Dean said again, though his father did not hear him. "Come on Sammy. Get up. We gotta brush your teeth."

Sam just continued to sit there, though he had at last lowered his hands to his lap and bowed his head. That was Sam's way of dealing with their father when whiskey could be smelled on his breath. Normally Sam was an argumentative child, but knew no amount of shouting would help him win out over his father when he was drunk. While John was usually only loud and intimidating while drunk, Sam could remember the few times his father _had_ hit him. And it was always him. Never Dean. Sam knew why though. It was because Dean never did the things that Sam did. The things Dad said he wasn't allowed to do.

"Sammy, _come on,_ "Dean urged, pulling at Sam's hand. Sam allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and followed Dean, who was still holding him tight. Dean reached up and flipped on the bathroom light. Sam was still too small to reach it. Dean let go of Sam's hand and pushed the chair that they had dragged in from the front room up to the bathroom counter. He climbed up, grabbed Sam's Ninja Turtles toothbrush and clumsily applied toothpaste to it. He set it on the counter and climbed back down to the floor.

"Ok, Sammy, up you go!" he said, trying to make his voice happy for his little brother. Sam clambered up on the chair and picked up the toothbrush. He whisked it around his mouth a few times then reached over to turn on the water to rinse the brush. Dean was having none of it.

"Sammy, you have to brush better than that. All your teeth are gonna fall out if you don't."

Sam looked down from his perch with a pouty look. "Dean, we're little kids. Everyone knows that our teeth are gonna fall out anyways," Sam reasoned to the other boy.

"Yeah, but this is practice for when you're big. If you don't brush your grown-up teeth then those will fall out too, and you can't grow new ones. That's why kids have kid teeth. So they can practice with them before they get their big teeth," Dean said in a matter of fact voice. Sam looked at his brother, impressed. Dean probably _did_ know what he was talking about. He was eight after all and Sam was only four. Dean knew lots of things Sam didn't. Sam turned back to the mirror to make sure he got every tooth as he ran the brush over his teeth once more. Finally, Dean seemed satisfied and Sam was allowed to spit and rinse. The boys traded places on the chair and Dean swiped his toothbrush quickly across his teeth a few times, completely missing the back ones, before rinsing and jumping down off the chair, which he pushed back towards the tub.

"Ok, time for bed. Dad'll get mad again if we're up much longer." Dean led the younger boy to one of two double beds in the dingy bedroom. Their dad always slept on the couch. Sam scrambled up onto his bed and Dean moved toward him to pull the covers over him. Sam smacked him away.

"It gets too hot," he whined.

Dean just sighed. This was an old fight. Dean wanted Sam warm and cozy at night, but Sam insisted on sleeping without covers even if the night was cold. Maybe he would just sneak the covers over Sam after he fell asleep. Resigned for the time being, Dean picked up the container of salt from the bedside table and proceeded to encircle the floor around Sam's bed with salt, before turning and doing his own. He looked back at his brother, who lay sprawled like a star fish on the bed, kicking one leg up then the other, letting each one fall with a heavy thud against the mattress.

"I'm going to salt the windows and then the door when dad leaves. Stay in your bed. I'll be right back."

Sam just continued to kick his legs up and down as if he was not even listening.

"Did you hear me?" Dean asked impatiently. Sam just blew a raspberry at him and went back to his strange game. Dean sighed and trudged into the main room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. He stood silently by the door as he caught sight of his father strapping on his concealed holster and sliding his worn leather jacket over it, seemingly oblivious to his son's presence. Dean watched as several guns were distributed in various holsters and the waist band of his father's jeans. It was only after his father began to fill a jar with holy water that Dean moved toward the windows with the salt. The movement caught his father's eye. John turned to stare at his oldest son who had frozen under his father's gaze. John sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and motioned for Dean to come closer. Dean approached hesitantly and John crouched down to be at the boy's eye level. He looked uncertain as he reached out and put his hand gently on his son's shoulder.

"Dean,"he began, "I know I put a lot of pressure on you to take care of your brother. It's a lot to ask of anyone, especially a child. You know I wish things could be different for you two, don't you?" he asked, eyes searching his son's face. Dean nodded solemnly, wide eyes locked on his fathers.

"I know Dad. And I know you just want to keep us safe. I'm sorry I was yelling at Sammy earlier. It was stupid. I didn't even want the plane. Not really. I was just tired of my cars," Dean explained. John sighed and looked down towards the ground. When he looked back up his eyes were softer. Slowly he looked back up. He made a jerky awkward movement as if to hug his son, before pulling back again.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. This last few months has been very hard. I've been tracking someone very bad that has information that I need. That _we_ need so that someday maybe things can be normal for us. So, that maybe one day we can have a home again and you can stay in one school. Maybe play football like your old man, hmm?" John asked. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Dean nodded and smiled.

"Then me and Sam could have a room full of toys and Sam could have a dog. Did you know that he likes dogs? And I could have a tree house!"

John laughed at his son's imaginings. The laughter soon faded though.

"You know I didn't mean what I said earlier don't you? When I said, I wouldn't buy you more toys? I know it's hard being on the road all the time and it gets boring. We can't fit a lot in the Impala, so that's why we keep our toys and clothes to a minimum. You understand?"

Dean nodded then asked in a small voice, "Me and Sam want Legos. Is it ok if we get some? It doesn't have to be a lot of them. Just some to build little things."

John just sighed and got to his feet mumbling something incoherent. "Alright, I'm going out now. Salt and lock the door behind me. There's extra food and money in the fridge, but I should be back in a day, two tops. Stay in this room and watch your brother. After I get back we'll be moving on. We need to get you into a school even if it's just for a little while. Until then at least try to work on the workbooks I bought. You could help Sam learn some things from them. He seemed curious about some of the simpler ones."

Dean groaned. "I hate the workbooks."

"I know, but you still have to be able to read and do math Dean. No excuses. I'll see you when I get back."

John strode to the front door and moved to open it when Dean asked a question that had been bothering him.

"Are you going to fight a demon, dad?"

John stopped and turned back to his son. "What makes you ask that?"

"I saw the holy water. Dad, demons are so much scarier than werewolves or ghosts. Their _demons!_ What if you get really hurt? What am I supposed to do? What is Sam going to do?"

John just stared at his son for several long seconds. Finally, he spoke, "do you remember when I asked you to memorize uncle Bobby's number?" Dean nodded an affirmative. "And do you remember what I said you were supposed to do if I never came back after seven days?"

"You said that I'm supposed to call uncle Bobby and tell him where we were so he could come get us. But that's not what I meant," Dean said, his voice wavering a bit.

"Then what did you mean?" John asked, his forehead creased with confusion.

"I meant how are we supposed to live without a mom _and_ a dad? Sammy won't understand, and when he gets older what if he finds out that it's because of him that bad things happened to you? He'll feel so bad, and I won't know how to tell him it's not his fault. Not really. He can't help the things he does sometimes. He'll feel like a bad person. I want him to know he's a good person." Dean explained all of this in a wild rush of air, then looked at his father, waiting for his response. For once it seemed Dean had rendered his dad speechless. Finally, John crouched once more to look into Deans eyes.

"Son, I know my leaving is scary. For the both of you. But I have to do this. I have to. The demon I'm looking for can help me find the yellow eyed one. I need to find him so that he can tell me why Sammy is the way he is and what he wants with him. We could use that information to help Sammy as he gets older. And after he tells me, I can send him back to hell for killing your mom. Dean, I have to go. Don't be scared. Everything will work itself out. You'll see."

Without another word, John opened the front door and walked out into the bitter November night. Looking over his shoulder he said, "salt and lock the door, son. We'll talk about those Legos when I get back." Then he was gone. Dean stood stock still letting the cold air roll over his bare feet before shivering and reluctantly closing the door. He turned the deadbolt, the knob lock, then dragged a chair over to reach the chain lock. Pushing the chair away so hard it fell over, Dean poured a generous amount of salt in front of the door, then proceeded to work on the windows, touching up the old lines. He was angry. Angry and scared. Every time dad left, Dean wondered if it would be the last time he saw him. But his dad was right. His going away was the only way that they could maybe be normal again someday. So, until then he would just have to take care of Sammy the best he could until he was big enough to help his dad. Dean slipped back into the bedroom where Sam was breathing slow and deep. He had fallen asleep. Dean tiptoed to the edge of his bed, careful not to break the salt line and pulled the covers over his baby brother. He crawled into his own bed and without turning out the light, soon followed his brother into sleep.

* * *

 _Sam giggled at the twirling sensation as he was spun round and round. The arms that held him up were strong and Sam felt completely safe in them. Sam lay on his back in those strong arms and watched the walls of the small cage go around and round again as the pretty lightning from outside lit up the inside. Finally, it was too much. Sam squealed half with delight half with motion sickness._

" _Ok, ok, stop. I promise I'll be good. No more cheating. I promise."_

 _With that declaration, Sam was set gently upon the floor._

" _I still find it amazing that you can find a way to cheat at Simon says, Sammy. That is talent indeed."_

 _Sam didn't look one bit guilty as he looked at his best friend that had sat across from him. His friend never looked the same way twice. Today he had red hair and blue eyes with a splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Sam said he liked him no matter how he looked. His friend had said he appreciated that, and that maybe someday when Sam was bigger he could see how he really looked._

" _What do you want to do now," Sam asked looking around, as if something might magically appear in the small enclosed space._

 _His friend also looked around, an unreadable expression on his face, before turning back to Sam._

" _Why don't you choose. Anything you want."_

" _Could we keep working on reading? I'm getting better. I really am! I read one of Dean's workbooks about writing earlier and I could read a lot of the words!"_

 _His friend let out a short laugh before motioning for Sam to join him. Sam climbed into his friend's lap and watched without concern as his friend cut his own arm so he could write letters with the blood. It was the only way to write in the cage. They worked for a while, Sam progressively sounding out harder words starting with island and eventually ending with elephant. Finally, there came the familiar tugging sensation at the back of his mind. It was time to go._

" _I think I'm waking up now," Sam said turning around in his friends lap to look directly at him._

" _Then you should wake up," his friend said._

" _It's too bad I can only play with you when I'm sleeping. I wish you could visit me when I'm awake too," Sam said, his mouth turned down in a frown._

" _We've been through this before Sam. Someday you'll be big enough to release me from here. Until then there is nothing that can be done. If I have to be patient then so do you," he said in a stern voice. Then his face softened. He could feel Sam slowly slipping away from him. "Have a good day Sammy. Give your brother hell and make him teach you more of those books. I don't always have the patience to teach little brats like you to read," he said with a sarcastic smirk._

 _Sam stood and turned to face the man. "I'll be back tomorrow when I go to bed again. Do you miss me when I'm gone?" Sam asked looking around at the small and depressing enclosure.  
_

" _Very much so. You're the first person I've talked to in a long long time. You should go now. I'll be here when you go to sleep. Have a pleasant day Sam."_

 _Sam wrapped his small arms around his friend's neck and hugged tight even as he felt himself being drawn back to consciousness._

" _I love you, Lucifer"_

 _Then he was gone._

Sam sat up slowly in bed and blinked the sleep and bright sunlight from his eyes.


End file.
